Yeh love kya cheese* hain?

I love the title! Recently I celebrated, rather , was a part of 'the love' week. This week is defined by certain outrageous qualities , such as, of transforming even the most mundane things into lovely somethings, of producing enough rouge(read blush)to give LOreal a run for their money, of letting you pass effortlessly through an entire day of misery, ladies-compartment-squabbles, bad-hair day and much more. These outrageous qualities have been so pleasing that I plan to stick around for a long , make that real long time to come.

Let me run you through the happenings of the love week.

Mon: I was chasing fluffy clouds on 7th heaven while trying to decipher latin. While I galloped around in a dizzy speed , I missed a cloud and I fell on the clouds of the 9th heaven. They were dream-inducing. But strangely, they were firm, safe and solid. I think i stayed in that state for almost a century before I realized it was already Wednesday.

Wed: I got to know about a few avenues of sightseeing on 9th heaven. They had a fish pond, filled with beautiful fishes. The catch here is , usually these fishes like to be caught and they will readily fall into your hook/trap, but the couple that evades the maximum fishes finally falls to the 11th heaven(the baap of all heavens). We went fishing and were so busy swimming in the never ending pool of each other's eyes that the fishes felt completely left out. Of course they dropped us to the 11th heaven and by the time we fell onto the clouds of this heaven it was almost the end of the week(and the beginning of a new love week).

Love also defies gravity. You know falling 'down' from 7th to 9th to 11th is not quite possible. I think i have made my point.

Its quite incomplete, i know. But why dilute love into words? Hain na?

Feel

I feel like i am breaking,

But i will hold on.

I feel like i am withering,

But i will flower on.

I feel acute anger

But i will smile on.

I feel downright insane

But i will go on.

I feel like i burnt a hole

Right in my heart,

But I will heal on.

I feel like feeling again

But, i don’t know yet,

If i could feel on.

-Subha Ramachandran

Let's Talk

I am in denial ,

Complain,I shall.

Reason the wrong,

demolish the right.

Foul , you cry?

And,

you shall watch.

Born,

To two organs

craving work.

Raised, too,

Replicate, Impersonate

Childhood,

wringing rights,

But,

writing wrongs

Adolescence,

Hush, Stop.

Adulthood,

Proletariat?

Shut up.

Work, You will.

Middle age,

Life,left,incomplete.

Death,

Inhaled my last,

Refused to let the breath 'go'

Stifled,

to sing the silent song.

Old Age?

I never grew old.

-Subha Ramachandran

affairs I love

What is it about love stories that have women craving for more? Having grown up on a steady supply of Judith Mcnaught's Kingdom Of dreams, Whitney, My love and many such more, I hopelessly fell in love with the idea of a historic romance. So much so that the obsession even got me into a tricky situation, when months ago, I realized I was living this dream. Soon enough this bubble burst and I recognized my folly and blatantly attributed it to Judith Mcnaught!

Although I am practical when it comes to being practical, realist when its test time and a romantic at mind(!) , I cannot help but accept my love for everything grandeur. Dont you wonder that History is romantic? Thanks, but I dont harbour any sentiments of 'crush' on Bhagat Singh or Hitler. But , what I do harbour is to bathe in the glory of the grand nature of everything english. Its sex, raw greed, pompousness, polished sophistication with more than a hint of malice and their easy approval of their myriad sexcapades. I fantasize heroes, although I cant imagine myself as a damsel in distress, purely because of my lack of self-acknowledged-beauty and the works. Damsels in distress are very pretty , also very irresistible. I wonder if i'd ever qualify for that job and hence in a dignified manner I fade my memory of myself as a damsel-in-distress. But, I still like heroes.

Heroes who have horses, who necessarily dont have to be good-looking or vain. They have to be courageous though. I think I attract courage. I like courage . Courage is such a rare quality. I would love a man who comes with a open mind and a big heart laden with enough courage to confide in me his reasons that interests him about me. I have found very few men who are courageous. All of us are hypocrites hiding behind our own curtains , adjustable ones. I met a spineless man and so spineless was he that unless he proves me wrong in my reading of his varying capacity of spinelessness, I will detest the mere idea of meeting men about whom I dont know much. Spinelessness is a quality that percolates the very texture of our finely-built society. Its a quality we are all born without but like obedient slaves we agree to. And now having met people who are masters at this act , I wonder how much I would love to smash such men's skull into two. You must wonder and be amazed if not delighted about my special bias towards men in this piece. But I must say, with much remorse that women are also party to this quality. Its just their way of acting that distinguishes them in my eyes. Men suppress when spineless, women become old when spineless. I hope you understand old here, you do?

I am not cruel by nature, I am quite nice. Its just that I dislike dishonesty.

I am leaving it here. Not articulated it well.

Rotate

Lets smell each other
bosom rose buddies
near the red riverbank
lets smell each other

your chin is pointed
so is mine
my nose is long
shorter is yours

soon we adjust
soon we impose
soon we dominate
soon we suckle

suckle is passe
squeeze is that
tongue lick lick
tingle toe tinkle

square , round , rotates
still we lie
sweat beads form
still we try

Come, another winter day
my love
you shall see
we will smell each other again
no bosom buddies then, we.

Sono Aisha

I haven't seen the movie yet. Although I plan to. But the reviews are not too good. I have observed something (this time too !). Now, I have been following many reviews over the weekend and have come to the conclusion that most film critic and reviewers either like the use of the word 'Banal ' or simply think the same about the movie. How else would you explain the generous usage of the above mentioned word in almost every third review! Sanjukta Sharma of Mint used it, Mayank Shekhar of HT used it and another movie website used it. What is it with this word ?

Anyway, I guess it will become too banal if I stretch this too far . Adios!

You lier!

I am supposed to be studying right now. I have my exam on this Sunday but, well, what the heck. This , too shall pass, like all else. One thing scary about life is that someday we will grow used to it. I mean, you become immune to malaria, WOW. You become immune to your life threatening mother-in-law, Double WOW. But, you becoming immune to life , sort of scary. I casually lie to myself that this will never happen to me. But , someday , I really don't know how would life shape.

Btw, Do you remember the first time you lied to someone? I know 'the last time' was all too recent, so haven't really bothered to ask that. I remember. I set the foundation at a very young age, mind you. They don't say for nothing that kids are fast learners. That way, I intend to teach my kid trigonometry when she is, say , 5 or 6 . I have a feeling, that I would be saved the headache and cribbing of a teen at a later stage in my life when I am almost reaching dangerously close to the word 'old'.

Yes. Let me take you into flashback. (Random : Is it the season of flashback, with 'once upon a time' and now my blog ?) I stayed at Borivali's MHB colony with my parents. It was a semi- chawl-wadi set up, where residents peeped in to your life with as much transparency as yourself!
They know everything,that yesterday you and your wife decided to ditch the missionary and go for the 69/96, that your brahmin boy secretly wanders off to Mr. Sawant's to taste the oily, semolina coated, delicious fish fry, which was by the way made by shalu, the youngest daughter of the house to impress one Mr. Sonavane , who works in the near by garage and has lost his heart to rekha , the local doodwaalah's daughter. The residents know that Mrs. Gonzales intends to run a small beauty parlour camouflaging her possible intentions of running a massage parlour. They know that 2 weeks before Diwali you will start painting some remote corner of the house and pretend to not have money for any further celebration. etc etc. Life is a series of 'I know- you know' in such houses.

I stayed in MHB Colony till I was 6. In those nascent years I made my best friend, Dinku. I dont quite remember his name, but this is what I called him , then. Dinku was gujarati, fair, big-eyed and had thin, long, brown-black hair reaching upto his knee in a total frame of 2-2.5 ft. I was impressed! His mother, who badly wanted a girl child and was working really hard at it for the second round with the husband, used to dress dinku up in a , well, feminine way. The hair was neatly oiled , uniformly combed, and tied in to two plaits perched atop his tiny ears, like two tiny bulb balls.

Dinku and I decided to play badminton or whatever little we knew of it back then. We got our plastic pink and fluorescent yellow rackets out accompanied with the 'I-don't-live-longer-than-a-day' shuttle cock and reached the passage area between two blocks. We fiddled around with the ensemble for sometime and while we decided to go to our respective houses the shuttle cock fell in the verandah of a family I knew little about. The reason being their ferocious dog that ensured no decent human entered their house. The shuttle was lying right in front of the dog's feet. The dog streched itself and made himself comfortable with the shuttle to his right. The shuttle was mine and since neither Dinku nor I had the courage to go up to fetch the cock , we left it there. We left everything it did in our lives just a few minutes ago there. We forgot that we ever played badminton. We forgot that we came down that day. We shrugged ourselves and walked like any other normal human would. I reached home and coiled on my father's lap. He saw my fluorescent yellow racket(yes, the pink was dinku's) hanging close to the TV set and casually asked me where I had kept my shuttle cock. I froze. I coiled some more and said I didn't know. He asked again and I didnt reply. He asked me again, this time a bit sternly and I said I have forgotten where I had kept it. Not a good reply. He had seen me entering just minutes before this conversation and knew very well that I was playing with dinku. He reminded me of this background and asked yet again. I said I didnt know. Thud. One tight slap on my little rosy cheeks that were tired of being the teacher's pet !He took to down stairs to the crime scene and asked again. I was in tears and didnt have the courage or the energy to confuse an angry lion. I pointed towards the dog. He fetched it and thud again. He told me , you will not learn to lie to your parents at such a young age.

----- The End------